What’s funnier than a grown man riding a scooter?

A grown man riding a scooter in a thunderstorm!

The boys in our sports department thought that one was absolutely hilarious when the Coast was hit by a storm the first day I rode my scooter to work.

“It’s a good look … if you’re a gay French man,” is their other favourite.

Stop laughing, will you! It only encourages them!

Yes, I am now a scooter rider.

A “scootie”, rather than a “bikie”, if you like.

It’s happened at this late stage of life because my wife has started working in Noosa and insists on taking our car each day.

Why she can’t hitch-hike from Mooloolaba, I don’t know!

She insists the only logical answer is for her to have the car while I make my way on a scooter.

Not a motorcycle, mind you.

A scooter – 50cc of raw power throbbing between my thighs!

Sorry, it’s not a pretty picture.

The boys in the sports department think it’s a hoot.

I keep telling them it’s a chick magnet – sex on wheels – and they could use all the help they can get in that area.

But they don’t listen.

I tell them about the exhilaration of the wind blowing through my hair as I cruise along at a frightening 50kmh.

With a strong wind behind me I can get it up to 55kmh downhill and if I hold my mouth just right I can squeeze out another 5kmh.

In our usual habit of naming our vehicles (and our furniture, plants and even most of our crockery) I wanted The Hog.

My wife insists on The Silver Bullet.

She told me I look cute on it.

I told her that “cute” was not actually the look I was aiming for.

“How about saying I look mean or very hot?” I asked hopefully.

“How about telling me that the sight of me on a scooter arouses you like nothing on earth?”

We’re settling for cute at this stage.

I think a lot of people agree with her because I see the admiring glances they give me as I ride past.

Young people, in particular, stop and point. Some even wave and call out words of encouragement.

“Go, Mr Scooter man, go!” I hear them cry.

Actually, I don’t hear them at all because the wind is rushing past so fast it tends to drown out everything else.

But I know they are cheering me on because the sight of a grown man on a scooter tends to bring a tear to people’s eye.

It doesn’t matter where you go, people are naturally friendly on the roads.

I remember when I lived in NSW and my parents came to visit.

“These NSW drivers are so friendly,” my dad would say.

“They keep leaning out the windows of their cars, waving and calling out to us.

“The moment they see a Queensland number plate they can’t wait to give us a special NSW greeting.”

He was joking, of course.

Just like the boys in the sports department are joking when they laugh at me and The Hog … sorry, The Silver Bullet.

A couple of them have already had a word with me on the quiet about how much a scooter might cost them to buy and how good it is on petrol.

I can’t name names but don’t be surprised if you suddenly see at least one of them tearing around.

I’m big enough to ignore their barbs and welcome them into the world of scooties, although I’m not sure if they are up to the raw power of a 50cc engine.

Maybe something a little more sedate for starters?
Like a lawn mower … or a go-kart.

See, I can laugh at myself.

We scooties live each day on a knife’s edge, so we have to have a sense of humour.

And just like truckies give each other a casual wave as they pass on the highway, I’m looking forward to acknowledging my brothers on two wheels as we pass on the open road.

I just can’t wave at them yet because I’m not brave enough to take a hand off the handlebars.

And we won’t be passing on the open road because, apparently, my scooter and I are not allowed out of the 60kmh zones.

Which is a pity, because I was looking forward to opening The Silver Bullet right up and seeing what she was capable of doing.

Now we’ll just never know.